Underworld: Aftermath
by Sofia-Fetale
Summary: Engineered to pick up right where the movie left off. Spoilerish. We'll see where I go from here. The rating is just in case I need it. Ensemble cast. I welcome praise and constructive criticism, but open hostility can be kept to yourself. Thanks sf
1. Prologue The Horror

Underworld: Aftermath  
  
R (just in case)  
  
Action/Romance/Sequel  
  
Ensemble cast  
  
Spoilers  
  
Disclaimer: Characters and beginning situations ain't mine. The rest IS.  
  
With hazy eyes, everything began to make sense and appear.  
  
***  
  
She looked around the well appointed suite, but a mounting terror broke her delicate composure. The howling outside the cabin signaled that something was dangerously wrong. An ambassador had already given the sign...they were trapped unless the greeting party could fend off the attack from without.   
  
In such a confined space, the men and women of the council would be powerless to fend off their assailants. Due to a Vampyre's innate physical precision, the Wolf was usually at a disadvantage when weaponry and distance were factors. But the Lycans were already altered, there were no available weapons, and distance was Not a factor. Already, she could hear them on the roof, and at the window...  
  
...Writhing in agony, she came to, staring at a brass reflection of herself. The ceiling metalwork revealed the full extent of her injuries. Her delicate champagne dress was a grotesque mess. Her neck charm mocked her, and drew her attention to blood bubbling from out her neck wound. Of its own accord, her body shook with random spasms, encouraging more blook to pour from her torso and extremities onto the carpet below. She focused on her reflection, begging consciousness not to fail her.  
  
Where was the squadron from the Mansion? Menacing above her, now stood a blood-soaked Lycan. Its teeth bared, it bent down and maliciously took a juicy bite from her already torn abdoman. She screamed, and the eyes looking back at her were terrified, but the mouth had not moved. She only screamed again. Willing herself back into unconsciousness, she found horrified relief when she realized she had not felt any pain. Taking the solace for everything it was worth, closing her eyes, she screamed and shrieked until darkness took its final hold.  
  
***  
  
He did not know what to make of the Darkness. Everything was over. He had stopped screaming, but he still existed. Was this the Afterlife? He felt his body and mind were suspended as if inside a vaccuum; there was neither up nor down. Where was he? and Who? 


	2. Chapter One The Awakening

Nothing sounded now.  
  
The droning had ended, and the heat signatures had melted away.  
  
The crest broke, and what lie in its wake was powerful.  
  
Reminiscent of that first primordial ooze:  
  
Slowly, ever so slowly, life was flowing back into motion.   
  
Blood cells were fusing together and tearing apart. Veins and arteries twisted, clenched, and surged. What was left of the silver nitrate was dissolving as the dominant, compounded lifeblood asserted itself in the body. Bones knit themselves together and ripped themselves apart in unfamiliar new ways. Grating together, the core and the essence of his being locked together in a deathgrip tight upon his soul. The ignorant horror of his pain coursed through him, and he retched down the front of his tattered shirt.   
  
As his cells mutated, Lucian laughed a silent open-mouth groan. Death, life, her death, his life.... What did anything matter? Why did he persist? But all that was washed away in the next seizure of pain. For the first time, in a long time, he was experiencing something bordering on--fear? This, too, caused him to laugh...that strange noise again.   
  
"Hwaachh," Lucian heard that. His body mocked his lucid mind so that during the rest of the transformation he remained silent. His body screamed and swore at him for a few minutes more. Now, he had the power to stand. He didn't move.   
  
He was sure this was the moment for reflection. He rebelled against the opportunity. Oh, how he ached. Even as he drew breath and sought his footing in the rubble, his body was ridding itself of anguish, of the memories. Now emotional, now physical. It was gone.   
  
Lucian did not feel numb. He had had too much practice over the years. Never before had it felt like practice. Always it had been a suppressed rage that sustained him. This feeling...was not new.... He identified it. Enlightenment.   
  
In achieving one's goals, one either feels deflation or the ability to move mountains. Lucian felt love. Shaking the debris from his ruined clothes, he felt free. "Like loving Her," he mused.   
  
Duty had once bound him. One might argue that he was still duty-bound, but one was not there to argue with him. Serving Sonja had been the meaning of life. It was the boon granted by his Lord, Viktor, in the same manner that fish have to swim and birds to fly. The ordering of life had been different then. Slavery's initial incarnation was a distant cousin to its modern conception. Dinosaurs to crocodiles.  
  
Each privilege was precious. Despite its debase, disgusting way of life, that enslavement had provided Lucian with the Reason Why. His past, present, and future could be justified...because of her. But that life that had once been his was no longer, and the world had changed greatly. Lost in his own thoughts, Lucian crunched across bits of gravel and cement as he collected those items that had been left behind.  
  
Amelia's vials of blood; a single syringe, a quarter-filled with the Decendent's lifeforce. The awareness that something in the fabric of the world had changed was all around him. From slave, to master, to teacher, Lucian's path had once more altered, never to return to what it had been. Unconsciously, though, he was still searching for something...his hand fidgeted. With empty air. An expression of shock came across Lucian's face. Disbelief, then the anger. Lucian forgot his intention was to remain impassive, as he was swept-up, awash in rage.   
  
What is one supposed to feel recollecting his enlightenment? Though Lucian had been remembering the rise from his lowly status of slave with an almost affectionate air, his blood boiled for the second time that evening. The medallion had become more than just a symbol of Sonja and his union with her. It was the emblem of stolen power, raped from the Vampyres, and the promise of permanent change to come. More than that, it had been the symbol of everything that he had done.  
  
Was. Where the F*ck was it. His eyes widened and narrowed. They flashed around the room with such malice that it was inconceivable he had ever loved anything or anyone. "Grraaawwwwwl."  
  
The low, guttural growl died away as he realized there were only a few who would have dared strip his corpse of its gold prize. It was a trinket to no one.   
  
"Well now. We are just going to go and get it back."  
  
With that, Lucian stalked out. 


	3. Chapter Two: Wiping Clear the Mirror

Underworld: Aftermath (Chapter Two - Wiping Clear the Mirror)  
  
R (in case)  
  
action/romance/adventure/sequel/spoilers  
  
ensemble cast  
  
Summary: 3rd Installment in the series, where I have moved on to address the goings on of another character. Everything picks right up from where the movie left off, and there is some entering into the characters thoughts about what has already happened.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but the situations they are in are *mine*.  
  
*************************  
  
Personal disclaimer: All I know, is what the movie and various posts have shown me about what has come to pass in Underworld. I intend to read the book very soon, but until then, I can only write what I know. If things need to be altered, I may or may not alter them, but I will definitely accommodate future chapters with the appropriate and necessary changes. For the record: In the movie, the vials did not break, therefore, Lucian is alive...he will remain alive. (Ain't no fun without him.)  
  
sf  
  
************************  
  
It must be raining.  
  
Such warm misery. Unfocused, Selene leaned against cool tile, arching her back. Her body was ever so weighed down. Roughly shaking her head, a moment of reprieve awakens into her consciousness. "I'm still clothed," her inner monologue chides her. Too much of her energy has been depleted for her to get angry. She pushes something heavy from her side, and with a flash the world explodes.  
  
Deafened, Selene feels pain. Her shattered fibia mocked her startled gaze. Selene's form convulsed, and she slid to the floor. Involuntarily, a moan escapes her already contracted lungs. Still, Selene was numb. Her reason had already processed the events that had transpired this evening, and her reason balked at her desire to do it again. Death, so much death. Much over the years, much by her own hand...what had she Done?  
  
Deception was not a game she took lightly.  
  
Now, finally able to recognize that she had been a Pawn...or a deceived Queen, really...the game had changed. Marcus. Oh, Viktor was gone, but Marcus was much more than a new "problem." At least in Viktor, she had had a more pliant King. She had loved Viktor. Even comparing this new turn to chess was ridiculous. Viktor had been reasonable. Marcus is the King, but of her familiar chessboard...nothing was as it had seemed. Except the pain. Marcus was Not reasonable.  
  
Her shin was taking its sweet time healing. Concentrating on the immediate torment, Selene took a choked breath, and began to think about the way forward. Her options were extremely limited. She could kill Michael Corvin, however, this would solve nothing. She would still be held to account for Viktor. The final confrontation had been witnessed by none, but they would undoubtably recognize her handywork. Sacrificing Michael was not only not enough, but fruitless--his innocence and her feelings were but minor points.  
  
Turning herself in was suicide. Although, she would be subject to the council--no, there Was no council. Shit. There was nothing, only Marcus. Marcus meant death. Death might even be fair...but the injustices that had been committed for centuries meant more to her than the Vampyric codes, now. Only she and Michael knew the truth. She and Michael needed to live.  
  
So she could run. She and Michael would run. Slowly, Selene began peeling off her clothes. Weapons first. How had she even ended up here? The blur left behind by the automatic pilot was probably a saving grace. Who cares. She knew she was safe for the time being. And wet. And now, naked.   
  
Bracing her arms against the tiled walls on either side of her fallen form, she pushed outward until her strong legs could assume the full weight of her body. Her mind was taking back possession of her brain. The war...what had Michael said? He said he knew what started the war. Viktor as much as admitted his role... What turn this war might have taken, was now assured. Absolute extermination. The even pace the Deathdealers had been doling out their assassinations during the last century was about to be turned up full flame.   
  
They had walked out, leaving the Lycans at their back--but what of them? They were not at fault for their Master's war. But a nation without its leader was at its most vulnerable to attack. From murderer, Selene suspected, her role had shifted to that of protector. Of Michael, she knew, he was the Lycans' most valuable legacy and now hers to protect. Could she leave the rest of the horde to fend for itself in the face of certain death? Gathering her strength, Selene began breathing more normally now. Any tears she may have shed were immediately washed away by rivulets that ran down the length of her body.   
  
Selene had been an instrument of others for so long. Did she have the power to lead? "Do I have the power?" Startled, she realized she had spoken aloud. It gave her courage. Not because she knew she had the ability, but because she had made the decision. "I have the Power," she murmured, nodding to her acknowledgement of purpose.  
  
The injustice of her family's death had been the beginning. This new catalyst brought her new resolve. New Power. Now more was expected of her than ever before. It was not a choice. It was acceptance. One might argue, enlightenment.  
  
Turning off the faucet, Selene gave a sharp shake of her head. Eyes glowing blue, she lightly shoved the frosty glass open. Gathering a rough towel around her, she stepped out and onto the slick tile floor. The water vapor covering the ovular mirror made it appear like a Lycan eye fending off transformation.   
  
In the sink, Lucian's medallion glowed. Wet and ancient. Dropping her hands she cupped them around the ageless ornament. Raising it up and clasping it around her neck, she fingered the accessory with one hand. The other absently traced letters in the mist.  
  
"L-U-C-I-A-N"  
  
Wiping clear the mirror, Selene observed her gothic covenant with her sworn adversaries with mild satisfaction--as well as a certain sense of deja vu. Disgusted, she waited until her image was once more clouded with a fine mist. She could not share her blood with the dead Lycan. Dead men, however...could still tell tales. Michael, still, was the key.  
  
Turning, she lifted her sopping clothes from the floor of the shower. Selene wrang them vigorously and set them on the empty towel rail to dry. Her weaponry, she placed in the porcelain basin.   
  
Her arms locked at the elbow and she hung her head over the basin. If she was going to accomplish anything, she was going to need a lot more hardware. 


	4. Chapter Three: Nothing Else Left

Underworld: Aftermath (Chapter 3 - Nothing Else Left)  
  
The Hybrid sat at the foot of a well-worn, queen-size bed. He had all these memories...but not all of them were his. He was not naive enough to repress what was and had been going on, but he was not invested enough to know anything for certain, either. He had all this information: scientific and fantasy.  
  
On the one hand, he could swear his name was Michael Corvin, and that he was a relentless intern who worked around the clock to do what he could to help people and to make sense of the world; while simultaneously he had been trying to escape it, to leave the past and its implications behind.  
  
On the other hand, he could feel latent power just beneath the surface of his skin. His recent past, present, and future sang out at him with each pump of his heart. Flinching, images silently ripped through his mind. Flash, death. Flash, incomprehensible agony as his body refashioned itself--into something new. Flash, ferocity. Flash, bones crushing against cement and steel. Flash, rage. Flash, choking. Then, relief.  
  
Flash.  
  
***  
  
Selene. Suddenly the man, the Thing, laying seige to his unfamiliar body rose up in what appeared to be greater anger. No, it hadn't been anger, it had been pure, unadulterated wrath. He focused on remembering. Selene had a blade as she turned on the far side of the bunker. She had gotten his attention. Her wrists flexed, and as they did so the blade shifted. Dark blood glazed down the broad side of the dangerous weapon. The two knife-relics in the monster's hands were all he could see. What advantage could he take? Just as he summoned up the energy to counter-attack, the monster faltered and something dropped into the pool.   
  
Unsurprised, Michael watched through narrowed eyes as the figure before him slid down into the disturbed water. Rising silently he registered little pain as his form returned to its original state. He slowly sauntered to where Selene stood immobile. Her face was tragic in its fiendish beauty. Senselessly, she looked at him, almost as if to say, "What have I done." It hadn't been a question.  
  
But suddenly they weren't alone. From the vacant doorways that led into the bunker, from every which way, and all around them, submissive and deep guttural sounds drew their attention. The Lycans were at bay. The sounds of gunfire had long since faded. Whatever had become of the Deathdealers, they were gone. Selene turned her attention to an indistuishable spot among the rubble and crushed steel girders. She bent, and when she rose she had Sonja's necklace in hand. Selene just looked at him, a beat later, she then slid her eyes away and began to saunter away. Michael followed, his movements in sync with her's as they exited the structure.  
  
***  
  
Flash, back.  
  
He flinched. That was then. Life was now marked in three parts. Before, then, and after. Before he had been Michael...then he had been becoming something else...and after...he was sitting on a cheap queen-sized bed in a shabby motel room somewhere outside the city limits. Reminding himself that No One had ever felt what he was feeling did not make this unfathomable burden any the lighter.   
  
The memories, at least were becoming his own. Lucian's had been horrific. His own were not much better, but then, his hadn't centered on a woman burning upon a stake in the sun, nor had they obsessed about that monster and his brutal regime of terror. Heavy stuff. "Hwah." That sounded more like himself. He was still a funny guy. Or a funny Something.   
  
Thunder sounded. His reflexes tensed. That gunshot had come from the bathroom. With certainty, he chose to do nothing. He needed time to think. If Selene needed him, she would make it known. Selene. She still had her name. Michael...just was not who he was any longer. Corvin. His apparently ancient surname was appropriate, he decided.   
  
"Cor-vin. Corvin," he tested it aloud. He felt more confident. At least one thing was now made right. Allowing himself a smile, he felt he had waited long enough. He stood up and took a survey of the room. A single bed, wallpaper with tacky blue and gold flowers that was peeling slowly from the ceiling, a television with one broken antenna. Someone had scratched their initials into the faux-wood finish of the television. The dresser was three rickety drawers of unfinished wood. The shade was drawn in front of a window whose sill was at the height of his upper-torso.   
  
This nightly rental was something Michael the Intern would have stayed in when he had backpacked across Europe. He had been such a f**king cliche. Now he was something unidentifiable, nameless. F**k. They were waiting for something to happen. Until then, there was no moving forward--certainly no moving backward. Would pacing do him any good? It was nice, Normal, to be talking to himself. No, he determined, pacing would Not do him any good. He was ready to talk to himself, to begin the rationalization process.  
  
Corvin could smell the dawn. The window must be opened a crack. Interesting how well he could identify his new faculties. Interesting how well he was assimilating. He could do nothing but accept his situation. He snorted derisively. As if this were just a situation. Something he could take to the board at the hospital where they could either absolve or reprimand him for his actions. Corvin shook his head sharply, no, that would have happened to Michael. But not to me.  
  
Taking a last sweep of the room, he sat down again, this time at the side of the bed. He did not intend to lie down, but as he settled into it he could imagine nothing more grand than closing his eyes while he waited. Sleep could come if it dared. But damn it all there was literally nothing else left. 


	5. Chapter Four: Recording History

Personal Disclaimer: Doing the numbers, 600 years ago, was basically like now. Amelia was set to awaken Markus. So (and I still have yet to read the book, so if its different...sorry for now) as far as I can tell...100 years either way, there is no mistaking that Viktor was not around when Lucian was "killed". Interesting.  
  
Underworld: Aftermath (Chapter 4 - Recording History)  
  
Earlier this evening:  
  
He had a very large decision to make. Go back or go on. It was obvious. Both what he wanted to do, and would inevitably go ahead and pursue. However, the logistics...were not entirely clear--yet.   
  
Still, he had time to think. Everyone who was witness to his treachery was now locked in mortal combat inside. Soon they would be either hunted, victorious or dead. Clearly, this was to his advantage. A creature of habit, Kraven was loathe to remember a time when his hand had not been configured to his liking. He had never been the warrior Viktor or the others had desired him to be.  
  
One could not deny one's own nature. And Kraven's nature was particularly well suited to politicking and manuevering among his peers. He was both an administrator and a right-hand man. He coveted his own success. His rise to glory within the coven had been particularly orchestrated. Having a distaste for the seamier side of the occupation, Kraven was an especially astute observer and manipulator.   
  
Kraven, the household's pride, was not only designated to rule in Viktor's stead for his cunning and intelligence, but also because his accomplishments had been so vast. He was the youngest and most illustrious immortal credited with the heroics of the Lycan Wars, none could deny his "success" had dictated the beginning of the end for the Lycan clans. His feat was above reproach, and without question. Interesting, as it was so very against the grain of his character. Though it wasn't the point of this moment, for those not embedded inside, his singular heroic achievement would still carry great weight. If it was not discovered for the lie it was. He must see to that.  
  
His hand had been clenched around a Lycan weapon. They could go. The Vampyres would be quite a problem if they were permitted to leave. Therefore, they would not leave.  
  
Not often had his confidence faltered. Kraven could not have survived it it had. But much had happened this evening. Exhaling, a cold cloud of smoke poured from his nose. He didn't like being wet. But the rain was sobering, and he could afford no mistake. His pent up aggression of the last few days had mellowed as he concentrated on the matter at hand.  
  
Perhaps the difficulty had been in the waiting. Everything had been building up to this. No, not This. Gruffly turning his head and grimacing his features, he fought back against the fury that threatened to boil up again. Much of this was, admittedly, his fault. His emotions had run too hot, too much had been at stake. But that beautiful bitch had wounded him dangerously, in too many ways.  
  
For centuries, his well laid design had sustained him. Six hundred years ago, the awakening of Markus had been marked with such jubilation. He had brought back evidence of Lucian's death. Amelia had been barely able to maintain her composure for those last few years. Ah, the beautiful Amelia. She had rewarded him well for rewarding her regime with Lucian's demise. That night...scorched, broken, bloodied by others and his own persistent wounds...the ecstacy she had brought about in him had been maddening. He still swooned remembering her taste for the blood covering his body. Ah, Amelia.  
  
Beautiful beyond mortal understanding, she had a Machiavellian cunning that cut deeply across the centuries. Well, had had. It was not regret Kraven felt. In fact, Amelia would certainly have felt tonight's deeds up to par with her own conspiring wickedness. In Amelia's case, tonight had been poetic justice in its most sublime form.  
  
Crack  
  
Crack  
  
Close. But both were dead. Kraven observed dispassionately as Lycos and...what was his name, two lower ranking Death Dealers roared in silent wails of agony. Blue light visible from even this far away, emanating from their respective wounds. A second glow came from out their mouths as they writhed horribly on the cold ground. His nostrils flared and cleared, as Kraven scanned the bunker for additional parties. There was nothing.  
  
"Now, where was I..."  
  
Ah, yes, Amelia. Farewell, then. My tribute is done.  
  
Going back further, he reflected anew. Bittersweetly, he rolled his head around before remembering, again, about tonight. Tonight was not entirely his fault. To himself, he could admit he should have played it out better. What made her so alluring, so desireable, also provided for his downfall. The gloriously elusive Selene. Kraven sniffed his cigarette ingraciously before tossing it to join those on the ground. He was used to the waiting. If only it hadn't come again so soon. In his plan, everyone was dead. In his plan, he was the indisputable king. In his plan, the entire coven rallied around him before he and his queen led them out to finish off the Lycans. In His Plan--he caught his breath. There was no point getting worked up. Instead, he resumed his paralyzing watch.  
  
Removed from the immediacy of the action, and, for the moment, out of harms way, he did what he did best. He waited. Slowly he scanned the face of the bunker, then he took pause...emerging from the building, a figure caught his within his sites.   
  
Two figures. Fleeing by way of the shadows. Not running. They were battle-weary. The next straggling survivors. The lead figure swung her head around in a frontal arc. Selene. Bitch. Behind her, the abomination. Viktor must be dead.  
  
Everyone else must be dead.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
Sleekly opening his car door, he slid into the vacant front seat in one sweeping motion. Salvation was upon him.  
  
Now, outside the dreary motel, Kraven had resumed his silent ritual of observation. Removing the last cigarette from the pack, raising it to the fire of his ivory lighter it flared and lit. He had marked time for an hour. They were tucked in for the night.  
  
The evening's victors were admittedly a surprise. History had always been written by those who survived to record their version of it. This turn of events was more unexpected than not, but more than fortunate. Kraven too was a survivor. Both Viktor and Lucian, dead, in one night. To say nothing of Amelia. The author of history may not have been the victor tonight, but he would be the one who got to Marcus first.   
  
Dawn. He had about a half hour. A race then. What a relief, action at last; something he could win both quickly and decisively. In addition, he was a leg up. Kraven was back in the game, had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. There was only one woman who could ruin him now...and That, was Not going to happen. 


End file.
